Blood and Lilacs
by rendezvous
Summary: [Seifer/Quistis] A horror broken free. A Garden treading the fine line of its downfall. One man with nothing left but his pride. One instructor with nothing left to lose. This is their story.
1. Gone and Away

Chapter 1:  Blood and Lilacs:  Gone and Away 

**Title:** Blood and Lilacs

**Author: **CelesteSpring (blujade288@yahoo.com)

**Disclaimer**:  Don't own 'em...

**Rating: **PG-13 for violence, profanity, and some sexuality.

**Summary: **[Seifer/Quistis] A horror broken free.  A Garden treading the thin line of its own downfall.  A man with nothing left but his pride.  An instructor with nothing left to lose.  This is their story.

**AN: **My first fic sprung out of my first obsession, Seifer Almasy.  I think I've gotten better at writing, if I do say so myself.  Enjoy, and don't forget to tell me what you think!  ^^

:::=:::=:::

Even monsters dreamt.

His eyes were open in a sudden sharp breath, and the remnants of his dreams burned into his vision; crimson nightmares that spilled like thick syrup across his mind.  An agony rose up, rearing its ugly head, jaws snapping, teeth slicked with blood.  It was bitter irony.  He would hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and never give a second thought to the people; real people, who had dreams, and could feel pain, just like he could.  Never a care to who they were, sisters, sons, fathers, husbands, lovers, children.  

And now the tables were turned.  Now he truly regretted.

His throat worked as he swallowed the cry that tried to force its way out of him.  This was what he had become.  Lowly and worthless.  Him! Reduced to such a state, when once he had been the very epitome of graceful death, languorous power, feared, and at the same time revered.  He scrabbled at the floor, at fractured cement and cold marble tiles and metal warped by the passing of time and power.  It was hopeless, he couldn't get out, _he was trapped._

Seemingly a lifetime of servitude...and he wished this was how it ended.  

Hell looked so much more appealing now, with the view he had from rock bottom.

It seemed like an eternity in chains, and at first it didn't seem so bad, to serve, when he always deluded himself into believing that he was his own master.  But he couldn't remember when he started to wish for freedom, when what had once been love festered, rotted, into an emotion far worse than hate: boredom, monotony, a dull "_I don't care..."_

Hate was fire.  Hate was passion.  Hate was feeling.  

And tedium was not.

Freedom.  Something he once had, but it had been so long, he couldn't remember how it felt like to go about, knowing there was no one watching him, no one who could tear into his mind at a whim.  But he knew even if he had, it would not last.  He was too valuable, too goddamn powerful, to be let loose upon an unsuspecting world.

His limbs protested, creaked with strain, and his lips peeled back in a growl as he felt his trembling muscles threatening to collapse, as he pushed at the ground, trying to heave himself off, because it was so cold, and the tiles nearly froze his skin.  Muscles that had been neglected for so long now were withered and thin and dying.

But he got back onto his feet; if slowly, and painfully.  Eyes still bleary, from a prolonged sleep, he waited patiently as everything refocused.  The gunmetal blurs shrank, sharpened.  Once his home, now his prison, and so familiar, he knew which piece of broken concrete, twisted metal belonged where, all the way down to the shattered glass that spilled like a jagged stream of water across one corner of the room.

No, it was no longer a room.  It was a twisted hulk of what it used to be, deformed by unnatural magic, the whims of a Sorceress.  Just a shelter, where he came for peace.  Peace from the invisible demons that plagued the place, silent clamoring in his mind that alternately whispered, screamed, assaulted like an off-key opera singer would pierce and tear at sensitive eardrums.  Something about it, perhaps the white marble floors, cold to the touch, or the rows of cracked pillars that held up a collapsing roof, soothed him.  Or maybe it was the dazzling display of crystal, shattered and broken, but still shining with a harsh brilliance that brought him momentary quiet. 

The blinding, multi-hued light left afterimages of shadows and fear.  Yet it was so much more pleasing to the eye now, after what it had gone through.  It had been a solid wall of crystal, before, smooth and cold to the touch, with a core of glowing, electric blue.  _Blue was her favorite color._  Maybe Time Compression had changed it, purified it.  Maybe it was once against inert beauty, unliving stone.  

Maybe it was just rock.  Beautiful, but no longer a storehouse for corrupted power.

So much more dazzling in this innocent display that seared colors into his eyelids, ultraviolet with a tinge of silver, aureolin yellow, edged with fiery red, painful scarlets and velvet blacks.

He turned away from it, turned his back on it.  Didn't want to see, didn't want to feel the march of weakened power that crawled along his skin like a swarm of fire ants.      

Reaching out to it, he tried to sense it, but there was nothing there.  And he thanked Hyne.

He hurt.  But it was the beginning of another day, precious time that he couldn't sleep away.  Had to go, prowl along this place, tense at shadows.  Trying to escape.  

A heat flickered behind his back, flaring in brilliance, and the air was thick with it.  His eyes stung with dread.

Whipping around, he had a split second before his eyes were blinded, and he gave a roar that echoed around the Lunatic Pandora, covered his aching head.  A spread of warmth engulfed him, before it whiplashed into ice.  Still he kept his head covered, not wanting to look up, not wanting to see.  _Coward._  The colors licked at his tightly closed eyelids, and he wanted to scream, but old pride didn't let him.

So he held it, tightly bottled in, while breath wheezed in and out painfully of his constricted chest.  He felt the ice encrust on his body, freezing rivulets crystallizing into long icicles.  He was shutting down, perhaps returning, once again, to hibernation, and there was some part of him that welcomed it, wanted to feel the numbness of sleep.  Wanted to sleep, and forget.

He knew he wouldn't die.  She wouldn't let him.

Abruptly, he was released from its grasp, and he fell, gasping, onto the floor.  Lying there facedown, eyes closed.  The weakness enveloped his mind, and the whisperings came again, softly at first, but growing more and more persistent.

And they were different.

He struggled back onto his feet for the second time in as many hours, and his limbs trembled.  His mind trembled along with them, balanced on the fine edge of a sheer drop, down into nothingness and insanity.

The hope was too real.  But so was fear.   

_I know how to get out._

He was running.  Streaming down shattered halls of crystal and glass before he knew what he was doing, breath coming out in ragged gasps, blood flowing through deadened limbs.  He leapt over a pile of the twisted, burnt metal that had once been the iron skeleton of Lunatic Pandora, came down on the wrong foot, slipped as ice melted and ran down into puddles on the floor.  He stopped, could almost taste it, the sense of freedom, just beyond his grasp.

_No._

Pain caught in the back of his throat, and his breath hitched out, shuddering.  Warmth pooled in his eyes, wet and stinging.  It had been too long, and he thought he had lost his capacity for human emotion.  But they gathered, until his vision was a swimming mess, and he couldn't see past the dim blurs of hope.  

_It doesn't matter._  His mind sharpened to a rusty knife's edge, honing in on that one weakness.  He directed it forcefully, driving it through layers of wards and defensive magic.  They gave a moment's resistance, of a cool fire that played across in flickers and glimmers, but he gritted his teeth, forced it over, felt the moment it gave way, a release of a barely contained heat and ice— 

It broke open, the magic barrier that was slicked on over the gigantic ship.  He felt the tear in the smooth, metaphorical walls, walls he had pored over endlessly, and a rush of triumph burned in his veins, left a giddy, sweet aftertaste in his mouth.  

The world spread out around him, and he roared.  His mind ripped, shredding with claws of magic until the tear ripped further open into a wide, gaping hole.   There was a fine trembling to his frame, uncontrollable shudders that weakened his knees.  The immediacy of his torn prison burned into his eyes, and concrete and blasted steel splayed out into the dark, velvety night.

He recognized this place.  

_It all started here._  Or maybe that was wrong.  No.  His distant past, their distant future.  They were crumbling, the barriers of time and magic and space wasting away.  But maybe it was only his mind that was splitting, splintering with hairline fractures.  Wrenched apart by inner rot, unholy pressure.    

_Why am I here?_    

The vast, Estharian desert was silent.  _Tell me.  _There was only the chirping of crickets.  

If he noticed the small flickering of regret in the back of his mind, he only ignored it, let guilt and its burden be carried away with the wind.

The taste of freedom was strangely bitter.

_Not yet._

The clear brilliance of stars spilled across the desert, and off in the distance, there came the answering roar of a Behemoth. 

The whispers mocked him inside his head.

:::=:::=:::


	2. Static Silence

Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 2: Static Silence 

:::=:::=:::

A white rose.

The first thing he saw as he came out of Time Compression and back into his own head.  Back into his own dreams.

A white rose, with snowy pedals, and a lovely, subtle perfume.  Long stemmed, elegantly suspended in the air, held up by invisible vines of wind that brushed past his senses like a caress of moth wings.

_Knight.  Protector of your Lady.___

The sudden yearning in his chest took his breath away.  He was unprepared for it.  It had been a long time since he had felt anything as passionate as the wanting that now caught him unsuspecting.  

He reached for the rose, but it seemed to hover just beyond his fingertips. 

All around him there was a white silence.  It was a place devoid of everything: life, death, all the things in between, and as he tried to take a step forward, tried to move, he found that he couldn't.  Frozen, trapped in his own mind. 

He knew this wasn't time compression.  He didn't know why or how.  There had been nothing to tell him that he had made it out of that hellish place, nothing except the feeling in his gut.  But he knew.

Just like he knew that he had to have it.

_Why?_

Arms and legs straining, feet rooted to the ground, stretching, _stretching, _and the muscles in his back, in his arms, screamed their protest--

Silky white pedals brushed passed his fingertips teasingly, seductively, like a beautiful woman holding out on that one last piece of herself, and it would have made new fallen snow look tainted.

_Tainted._

It was a direct contrast to himself.  He was dirt, filth, a broken man with nothing to offer.  He had nothing left but his pride.  Come to think of it, that was all that he had had in the first place.  That, and Balamb Garden.  The place that he had once considered home.  Now he doubted that same home would ever want to see his face again, much less welcome him back.  

 And whose fault was that?

_No use feeling guilty._

He had told himself that so many times before.

Too bad it did shit for his conscience.

Memories; everything that he tried to force down into the dark, dank basement at the back of his mind, came rushing back to the man in a sullied gray trench coat with crosses emblazoned upon its sleeves.

_Matron, her beautiful face wreathed in smiles as she accepted the drooping wildflowers the little blonde boy had _

_picked for her..._

He watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as the pedals of the rose lost its velvet shine, and the edges curled inward. Its purity marred as diseased, sickly veins of black crept, and twined, and choked, black blood beaded on prickly thorns. 

_Rinoa, and the familiar scent of her ebony hair as he breathed in her warmth..._

The rose started bleeding.

_Matron, her beautiful face wreathed in frowns as she watched him lose...to fucking Leonhart, no less._

It was dying, and there was nothing he could do to save it.  Once again, he was powerless; once again, he had failed everyone: Rinoa, Balamb Garden, Matron, himself.  _Most importantly_ himself, he would've said, once upon a time.

_Rinoa...the look on her face and the pleading in her voice as she asked, quietly, "Haven't you done enough damage, Seifer?"_

_He had nearly sacrificed her to Adel.  If it wasn't for Squall, _

_(always Squall)_

_she would be worse than dead right now._

Her innocent, trusting voice echoed inside his aching head. _ "You'll always take care of me, won't you Seifer?"_

It burst, like a balloon that had been filled with too much air.  The rose burst.

_He had comforted himself with the thought that the promise didn't count.  He had been young and naive then, giving away his word of honor like he would give a few gil to the poor.  He had wanted to please her, would've done anything to please her.  It seemed like a special charm of Rinoa's; the ability to wrap men around her little finger came as easily as breathing to her.  And he had gone to her willingly.  Never in a million years would he have thought to see himself a slave to anyone.  He had cursed himself for being so weak, but damn her, he had enjoyed it while it lasted.    _

He could feel a warm wetness on his cheek.  He raised his hand to touch it, and came away with blood and the scent of lilacs clinging to his hand.

_Was it just the way she had made him feel? Like he was the chivalrous knight, with his own shining armor and loyal steed, always ready to ride to her rescue?  It pissed him off to think that he had only gotten into a relationship with Rinoa to bolster his ego. Contrary to popular belief, Seifer Almasy _didn't_ care to be thought of as shallow.  Irritating, arrogant, and an asshole maybe, but he wasn't shallow. _

It didn't matter anymore.  Why waste time thinking about a foolish, clinging girl, and the foolish, meaningless puppy love that they had shared, when his mistress was in danger? 

_He had sworn he would protect Ultimecia, but how could he protect her when he was lost in his own mind?_

Lilacs...

_When it had begun, when the magic in the Lunatic Pandora had built and built and built until it had reached its shattering crescendo, it had taken Squall and the rest of _them_ to the future, and he had been left to wander around in some Hyneforsaken place (not that he believed in Hyne) for who knew how long.  Now he was back in his own head, with no idea what the fuck was going on, and hell, he didn't even know how to wake up from his own fucking dreams so he could do something about this, anything-_

If there was anything that he hated, it was feeling weak, helpless.  Small. 

He felt his ghostly connection with her awakening-the connection that was the lifeline between every knight and his lady.  A note of surprise twisted in his mind, because _she _hadn't beckoned for so long, before the sudden stab of pain knocked into his gut, and he doubled over, clutching his stomach.  The wave of agony receded slightly, barely enough time for a choked breath, before it came back, twice as strong.  

_Damnit.  Only a  dream!_

There was no blood on his stomach, only the hideous burning that ripped into him, gnawing and shredding and _hurting._

Hyne, it hurt.  It hurt like nothing had ever hurt before, not when he had faced off with Squall all those different times, not when the he had both his arms fractured in a training accident with a T-rex, not even when he had taken bullets in his fucking _kneecap_ from the cowboy's gun.   

He gritted his teeth, tried to force it down.  He was no stranger to pain.  The lessons learned from harsh training sessions with Hyperion only made it a little less durable, and he slowly straightened, trying to ignore the fire still constricting his sides.  Taking short, sharp breaths (_become one with the pain pain is not your enemy your enemy is the one causing pain)_, he tried to recover himself.

Still the red-hot needles jabbed and prodded unmercifully.

_Matron?  Is she all right? _

He looked up, and she filled his vision, his mind. 

_(Edea Matron Ultimecia Adel Edea Matron)_  

The tight midnight dress clung lovingly, like a second skin, and she reached out delicately long hands

_(claws)_      

to cup his cheek, but her fingers tightened painfully; he felt the sharp sting, then warmth running down his face, and tasted a foreign saltiness on his lips.  Burnished gold eyes held him spellbound 

(_frozen bird and the snake_)

and the tattoos on the left side of her face writhed, serpent-like, as her soft violet lips curved upwards in a small, secret smile.

With her came the overwhelming stench of lilacs that made him want to heave.

_She's alive!_

And that was all that mattered to Seifer Almasy. 

:::=:::=:::

                __


	3. Rose Reverie

Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 3: Rose Reverie 

:::=:::=:::

_Downtown Fishermen's Horizon was a place of perpetual dark.  The buildings were old, crumbling, decrepit with age; the streets were cracked concrete that had given up hope of a repaving long, long ago.  _

_Fujin wasn't going to let some landlord toss her and Raijin out onto those same streets.  The indignity of it! _

_So now here they were.  _

_Fishing wasn't an alternative she had ever considered before, but anything had to be better than their previous brief stint as bodyguards-for-hire.  Especially their last job, when Raijin had punched Mr. Big-Shot-Executive in the face.  When she had asked later ("RAGE!  EXPLAIN!"), he had meekly muttered something about overhearing a conversation._

"_They were talkin' bad stuff 'bout Seifer, Fuj!"_

Apparently, Raijin had decided to teach the poor man a lesson.  Never mind the fact that they descperately needed the money the job paid. 

_Fujin shook her head with a half-smile.  Raijin was an idiot, but a lovable idiot._

_The air was alive with the scent of summer; clean, smelling of cotton sheets and freshly done laundry.  The cool breeze ruffled her platinum hair, stirred the nape of her neck.  There was peace in this place, this quaint white cottage with its rose garden and plentiful sunshine and twittering birds.  _

_It was a peace that Fujin had rarely known in her life.  It had always been Garden, Garden, Garden.  The hectic life of a SeeD cadet: the training sessions, tough classes, tougher missions.  Everything she had done, everything everybody had done, had been for the good of Garden.  And in the end, they hadn't even made it in._

_Raijin followed behind her, unusually quiet.  She supposed he was wrapped up in his own thoughts.  Briefly, she wondered at what he was thinking.  It was probably something important if it could keep his mouth shut for so long.  _

_They strode up the path towards Mrs. Hannil's cozy little home, passing under clusters of fragrant roses.  Thick vines wound their way through the white picket fence, and the blooming flowers, heavy with morning dew, turned their white faces up into a clear blue sky.  There were roses overhanging the entrance of the house, draped over a delicate wooden arch, home to birds--hummingbirds, darting from one flower to the next, tiny throats a deep red, and delicate wings a blur.  _

_Fujin rung the doorbell; leaning tiredly against a white pillar, she watched as a tiny squirrel the size of a baby cactuar bounded in front of her, its nose twitching and bushy tail twirling acrobatically.  It froze, and then suddenly exploded away for shelter, as if it had sensed something._

_And perhaps it had._

_A shifting of clothes, a stifled moan._

_"Hey Fuj, you think Old Lady Hannil will sell us that boat if--"_

_"Sh!"  She cut him off sharply, gesturing for him to be quiet._

She had heard something; she was sure of it.  SeeD training was the best in the world, after all.

_Again, the noise, this time a pained hiss._

_A flash of gray and gold, among the leafy foliage?_

_No._

_It couldn't be possible._

_But she was running, running towards it (him?), before she could tell herself not to get her hopes too high._

_(The harder they fall)_

_A cold wash of fear; excitement, hope flooded through her, and she thrust aside thorny bushes, white pedals bursting and falling to the ground in a fragrant shower, and it was like a _

_(gift from the faeries)_

_Raining down, soft velvet caressing her cheek, barely noticed stings as thorns bit into exposed skin, the rush of blood in her ears, and then_

_Fujin was on her knees beside him, checking for pulse, for injury, for all the things they taught you to check for in training.  She could barely feel his heartbeat, it was so weak and thready, and his eyes were closed.  Instead of his usual healthy glow, his face was pallid, almost as white as a statue carved of alabaster: still, perfect, and dead.  _

_Not dead.  Not yet._

_The shallow rise and fall of his chest was enough, and she felt relief, an overwhelming relief, that of the protective love of a mother, or a sister, but not of a lover._

_She wondered about that, about her sudden shift of her feelings._

_Dimly, in the background, she could hear Raijin reassuring a dazed Mrs. Hannil, who had been home after all, and who had been just as shocked as they had been upon discovering Seifer Almasy in her front yard.  _

_"Oh my," she said, and her voice seemed to come from so far away.  "Oh my lord!  Frank!  Frank, call the ambulance!"_

_She murmured a Curaga, and the warmth of the healing spell glowed an intense spring green in the center of her palm.  She felt the power flow from her veins into Seifer, her supply of magical energy straining, rusty and unused to such high level magic.  _

_It had been a while, to say the least._

_His breathing seemed a little less labored, although that may have been a figment of Fujin's hopeful imagination.  It was odd, really.  There was not a sign of physical harm on him, not a single cut, or scrape, or broken bone.  But then, magic was a strange mistress.     _

_"Seifer?"she whispered._

_He had made it back.  From Time Compression.  From Ultimecia.  _

_Thank Hyne.  _

_She made a mental note to herself to mail a thank-you note to B.Garden--to Squall and the rest of the darlings of the media, more specifically, for getting rid of that power hungry bitch in the first place._

_Fujin stroked his cheek, reassuring herself with the reality of the beard, however dirty and bristly, beneath her hands.  "Seifer,"she whispered again._

_Distant sirens split the air, angry wails that punctuated the serenity of the rose garden._

_"You're safe from her now."_

_The tiny squirrel was nowhere to be seen._

:::=:::=:::=:::

_It was Ultimecia's bond.  She died, and nearly dragged me down into hell with her._

"So we took you back here, and you had this terrible fever, ya know? We thought we lost ya for sure, man!  But you're a survivor!"

_My ultimate curse._

They had never really talked about how they had found him before; he had only gleaned the basic details, that he had been found in a rose garden, and that he had been near death.

A fucking rose garden.  It was too ironic for words.

"MORNING!"Fujin said, carrying in breakfast, which consisted of pancakes and blueberry muffins.  The heavenly smell wafted through the small bedroom, and Seifer's stomach gave a protesting grumble.

"Hey man, I heard you tossin'and turnin'last night."

There was a short silence, and Seifer scowled.  

It was a strange dream, as his dreams went, and stranger still was the fact that he could not get it out of his head, no matter how many times he told himself all it was was a product of his overworked imagination and paranoia.

Damn Galbaldia.  They put a price on my head, and now I gotta look over my shoulder every time I go ten steps out of this goddamn apartment...

He wished he had never had it in the first place, so that he could live out the rest of his life in peace, with Fujin and Raijin keeping him company.  That was all he wanted now.  Just a place, for himself, for his friends.  A little corner, away from the hell the rest of the world loved putting him through.  

But he of all people knew just how futile wishing and hoping and dreaming was.  The only thing that came of dreams was the agony of failure.

And the only thing worse than being a fuckup was being a fuckup that the whole world knew, and scorned, and hated.  

But the dream had also brought back memories of Balamb Garden, and just the other day, when the three of them were fishing, Garden had passed over them, its majestic rings of light glowing blue, yellow, gold as the mid-afternoon light struck it at odd angles.

Seifer had never remembered feeling so nostalgic in his entire life.  

Then again, what was there to feel nostalgic about with a past like his?

"It was nothing."

"A man has his needs, ya know.  You ever have trouble with anything, just ask me!" Raijin looked proud of what he probably imagined as his subtle advice.

Fujin, being too far away to kick him, instead opted to chuck a muffin at him.  "TACT!" she yelled.

She turned back to Seifer, the feral look in her eye fading.  "NIGHTMARE??"

He hesitated, shaking his head, concentrating on the taste of the pancakes instead.  

Fujin just looked at him.  If she was standing, she would've been tapping her foot impatiently.

He looked back at her, watched as her crimson eye gentled, from an amused irritation to a motherly concern, and felt unease.  Scared, even--of the dream, of wanting to go back, of what _they_ would say if he did.

  Who was he kidding?  Balamb Garden would sooner lock him up in some jail cell and throw away the key than take him back.  He was, after all, Seifer Almasy--the dull black spot that marred their squeaky clean reputation. 

The morning light streamed into the small apartment they had rented, a somewhat homey place, with its seashells, windchimes, and freshly sanded floor.  The walls, so recently repainted, smelled only faintly of the sea now, and the sounds of a new day filtered in through the half-drawn curtains:  seagulls squawking, fishermen yelling, the muffled roars of boat motors.

His voice was soft, an uncertain tone that was rarely heard by anyone outside their little circle.  He told them, trying to fish out the important bits and pieces buried within a confusing pile of images, like a fisherman sifting through the junk of a shipwreck. 

"A white rose...and lilacs.  She smelled like lilacs."

"Hey Fuj, weren't the roses in Mrs. Hannil's garden white too?"

Fujin slowly turned towards him.  "WHAT?"

"White, Fuj, the roses were white.  Ya know?"he said.

"COINCIDENCE," she said, then threw another muffin at him.  "Don't scare me like that."

Everybody concentrated on their pancakes, and their thoughts.

Seifer felt disturbed.  

_It was a white rose.  And then it burst.  And there was blood, and lilacs._

He didn't want the damn dream.  What he wanted was to live out his life without worrying about death, and people hunting him, and white roses, and what they could possibly mean.

Liar.  What is life without death?  What is life without death--to you?  And what was it to them?  Those poor, poor people who were all in the wrong place at the wrong time.  The innocents you slaughtered.  For her. 

_Shut up! _He yelled at the jabbering voices, the corner of hell of his head.  More than once he had jolted awake, sweating at night, plagued by dreams, nightmares, of the blood Hyperion had shed, and it was always blood, and her eyes, the golden eyes, with an unholy light burning behind them, that would laugh, and spit venom, and curse him.  For being a failure, for being weak, for not being there when she needed him the most.

 "Seifer," Fujin said, and he started at her serious tone.  "Ultimecia...she controlled you right?  All the things you did...they weren't you."

"No,"he shook his head.  _It wasn't me._  "It was her."

I only killed

Slaughtered, butchered, murdered

them 

(the pregnant lady the eleven year old with the rag doll the old man with a cane) 

because she told me to.  She had me under her control.  

Liar.

Hyne, if Fujin and Raijin knew that he was arguing with disembodied voices inside his head, they would dump him in the nearest mental hospital and that would be the end of freedom.  Going from Ultimecia to a loony bin was an improvement, but it was a small one at that.

"Well, when we going back to Garden, Seifer?"asked Raijin.

They both turned to look at him.

"Why you staring at me like that?  Makes a man uncomfortable, ya know," he said a touch defensively.

"What gave you the idea that I wanted to go back?"

"Well man, the other day, we were fishing, ya know?  And B-Garden passes by, n'I saw you n' you had this look on your face.  N' you could just tell that you really wanted to go back and...ya know..." he trailed off lamely.

Raijin was a lot more perceptive than most people gave him credit for.

He gave a bitter laugh.  "You guys forget the minor problem that Garden sees me as traitor, failure, ex-lapdog, etc, etc?"

Wordlessly, Fujin pulled out an old copy of _Horizon Times_ from underneath a stack of magazine.  She handed it to him, and an article caught his eye.

War Criminal Pardoned 

In a statement today, Headmaster Cid of Balamb Garden declared Seifer Almasy, one time promising SeeD cadet, officially pardoned for all crimes committed during the Sorceress Wars.  Citing reasons like "mind control"and "instability", the headmaster...

Seifer tried to conceal the whirlwind of emotions—regret, anger, shock—that welled up inside him.  

Just like that.  My life takes another turn—if I want it to.

But all he said was," 'One time promising SeeD'?" and made a halfhearted attempt at a smirk.

"And there's this one lady, Matron, who was really supportive of Garden's decision.  Ya know her?"

_Matron._  "Yeah, I know her,"he said.

A pause.  Fujin and Raijin looked at him expectantly.

"Well then..."He stood up from his half eaten muffin, stretching luxuriously.

_Screw it.  Who the fuck cares what they think?  They offer you a place back.  Be a shame not to take it.    _

Puberty Boy, Chicken Wuss, the instructor, Rinoa...

_A second chance..._

"So where's Garden's next docking point?"__

He had been accused of being many things, but never of being a coward. 

Damn if he would give them an excuse to start now.

:::=:::=:::


	4. Freedom Falling

Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 4: Freedom Falling 

:::=:::=::: 

_Balamb; seaside city, home to fish chips, shrimp boats, annoyingly persistent street vendors, and of course, Balamb Garden._

A lone figure leaned against the smooth stone balcony.  The rosy light of first dawn played soft pastel colors over the metallic shell of Garden, and over the side of her pale, drawn face.

_Although Balamb sunrises merit some recognition too._

The coming dawn pressed against her senses.  Even with her eyes closed, she could feel it coming.  It was a sort of sixth sense cultivated by clandestine missions.  Being a SeeD trained one to notice such insignificant details.

A sudden gust of wind blew her hair back, streaming from her face.  She closed her eyes, and leaned forward, mentally trying to clear the cobwebs in her head.  She felt tired, and a little sad.

She also felt at peace with the world, something that had eluded her since Time Compression and Ultimecia.

Since Squall and Rinoa, more specifically.  Seeing them together, day after day, was like a dull toothache, painful and persistent.

She liked to think of herself as an independent woman; relying on no one but herself.  But people, particularly men, took it the wrong way whenever she politely refused an invitation out to coffee or an offer to go dancing.  She was labeled by the various egos she unintentionally insulted as cold, prudish, an ice queen.  

Of course theTrepies, those poor, misguided students who had nothing to do but to follow some poor instructor around all day, didn't help at all.  It annoyed the hell out of her, but what could she do about it?  Everything just seemed so trivial after Ultimecia.

Sometimes the solitude of her life bothered her.  Now was one of those times.

The cool breeze prickled along her bare arms.  Again, she cursed her decision to come out here wearing nothing but a sleeping gown, a strappy white affair that left her arms completely exposed.  

In her defense, she hadn't been thinking.  After experiencing some late night insomnia, she had gotten up and wandered around, with that edge of tiredness still clouding her mind.  Her feet, seemingly having a mind of their own, had carried her to this balcony just outside the Training Center.  

She didn't know why she had come here; this place had its share of bad memories.  Bad memories that she liked to pretend didn't exist, that had never happened in the first place.

She watched in melancholy as the sun rose above the calm waters of the ocean, its reflection playing a myriad of pink, purple, and orange over the endless waves.   Facing a new day with not even a wink of sleep, and Quistis was already counting the seconds until her next caffeine fix.

Overworking yourself again, Instructor?  Trying to make up for the fact that you didn't really think you deserved it when Cid gave you back your license?

Heaviness dragged at eyelids, and she forced back a yawn, checking her watch.  She had exactly one hour to take a shower, grab breakfast, and get that coffee that she had been thinking about.  Hell, if she was lucky, she might even be able to slip in some fifteen minutes of rest.

One more look at the rising sun, and she turned to go, eyes only half open.

There was a movement off to her right, a barely-there rustle, and then numb warmth spread across her stomach.

The warmth that was followed, inevitably, by fiery agony, then by nothing at all.  And it was the last that Quistis feared the most.

Ingrained training kicked in, and she threw herself to one side, tucking her body into a textbook shoulder roll, and came up on one knee, as a creeping red stained the torn front of her gown.  Eyes registering what her mind was too tired to comprehend--the gleaming golden eyes, the slightly fetid smell; as the blue dragon attacked again, moving silently, swiftly, lethal claws extended and slashing for her throat.

With the sweet rush of danger in her veins, she collapsed to the floor and rolled aside again, trying to lure the dragon away from the entrance it was blocking.  She reached for Save the Queen on the way, a natural reflex--and came up with nothing but a handful of torn white silk. Cursing, she gripped the back of the creaking rails.  Her mind analyzed the situation coldly.

_Weapon, magic, Gfs absent.  Entrances blocked off.  Sleep deprived.  A recipe for disaster._

It came at her again with a snarl of rage, leathery blue wings beating at the air.  This time, with the fine edge of adrenaline quickly wearing off (_this is what you get for not sleeping_), Quistis wasn't fast enough to get away, and as she flung up her arms to protect herself, the dragon slammed into her, clawing viciously.  Her blood sprayed in a fine red arc, and a cry of pain forced its way out of her gritted teeth.

_What the hell is a Blue Dragon doing in the Training Center?_

She was knocked up against the precarious railing, and the blue dragon tore bloody furrows into unprotected arms.  Uncoiling tired muscles, she lashed out with her feet, only remembering too late that she was wearing bunny slippers.  The shock of impact against a leathery hide vibrated all the way up her legs, and her nerves went dead.  Cursing, she snapped the heel of her hand into the snarling snout right in front of her, and the dragon's head cracked backwards with a hollow thunk.  

_protect your vital areas don't let it get at your throat_

Her arms were slick with blood; she could feel herself tiring, and her breath came in harsh pants. 

Then she missed a block, her arm slipping sideways, exposing her throat, and she thought she saw a flash of triumph in the feral multi-layered dragon eyes before it—

_--Backed away?_

Quistis could feel her meager strength sapping out of her, draining away like the blood that flowed from the burning cuts.  With a groan she collapsed onto her hands and knees, and watched with blurring eyes as a crimson pool formed on the floor.

_That can't be...all mine..._

Her head swam, and she felt claws digging into her shoulders, wings beating against the air as the dragon fought to lift her dead weight.  Rivers of warmth ran down from where pain ripped into skin.

Burning--in her head, her arms, her stomach.  The rush was gone, replaced completely with the agony of wildfire.  

Dimly, the tearing in her shoulders came to her, the growls of the blue dragon as it fought its battle with gravity.

_Why doesn't it just gut me and be done with it?_

And then a snarl of victory, as it lifted its prey unsteadily.  

She was so tired, and it was so easy to make excuses, to give up...

Her eyes were closed, and she could feel the bright warmth of the sunrise even as she felt herself being dragged over the balcony.  The red orange lights lingered on the inside of her eyelids.  She knew what was below: the razor-edge spinning spokes of Garden that would no doubt chop her into bite-sized bits.  

_Is this how Quistis Trepe goes out?  With out a fight, and to a freaking blue dragon?_

It seemed so sardonic to her—the same institution that had given her a life, a purpose, would now, ultimately, be her death.  If she didn't know better, she would've thought that the Blue Dragon had suddenly grown a sense of irony out of nowhere.

They hovered there for what felt like an eternity, and it seemed like the dragon wanted to gloat, from what she could tell by its triumphant howls.  But Quistis felt the claws, slippery from her blood, losing its grip on her distantly aching shoulders.  And she felt the moment when one slipped, and then the other.

_Everything is so distant.  It's like this isn't even happening to me._

It was a strange sense of freedom, this falling.  The wind buffeted her long hair all around her, long gold strands clotted together, and she felt the warmth of the new day press against her closed eyelids.

Her stomach dropped from underneath her, but she didn't utter a sound.

_I guess I always thought I would die in combat, and everyone would remember me as a hero and there would be a memorial and maybe even some schools named after me..._

She was waiting for the end, waiting for death.

It never came.

With a thud, she landed _(on what?), _her breath exploding out of her.  But there was no new pain, no sensation of being ripped into many little pieces.  Just a sense of...floating?

Cautiously, she opened her eyes--and pushed herself backward with a muffled, "Hyne!"  Spinning just inches below her were the spokes of Garden, the dangerous machinery that kept Garden afloat.  And below that lapped foamy waves, with the Balamb shore nearby.    

She staggered up on the semi-solid air, her feet sinking down into the magic, swaying haphazardly.  

_Where's the dragon?_

She looked up at innocent blue skies clear of flying menaces.  Pressing a hand towards her stomach, she ripped off a piece of her nightgown and used it to staunch the blood flow.  The cuts on her arm were shallow, and the gashes on her stomach--well, they weren't shallow, but at least they weren't life threatening.  In fact, the burning was beginning to go away.

_Idiot!  You're showing all the signs of going into shock!_  

Her mind was disoriented and she could feel the beginnings of numbness, but she knew that it wasn't herself that had cast the float spell.  __

_A float spell...?_

Hardly anyone was up at this time in the morning. 

From her vantage point, she could see the Garden entrance, just off to her left.  She looked up at the shining gray wall of Garden, and from all the different balconies, there was one that caught her eye. 

It wasn't the one she had fallen from.

A figure stood there, highlighted with the light of the coming dawn, glowing a fuzzy yellow.  For a moment, it was motionless, then with a flash of black cloak and ebony hair, it was gone.

She thought she heard echoes of laughter floating towards her, gentle tinkles of amusement as lovely as the sound of wind chimes. 

_Did I just see...?  _

_No._

_Nothing makes sense anymore._

Dimly she wondered how long the float spell would hold.

Then she wondered nothing at all as her eyes rolled up inside her head, and blackness claimed her.

:::=:::=:::

AN:  *huggles* to all that reviewed!  

Will spare you my annoying ramblings this time.  If you want to make this author happy, click and leave a review...thanx ppl!

 


	5. Gamble the Fates

Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 5: Gamble the Fates 

:::=:::=:::

From a distance, Garden seemed an untouchable creature, its intimidating steel walls a dull gray, ugly, yet elegant in its own distended way.  Some thought of it as monstrous, a hideous insult to the high art of architecture.  He thought of it only as home.__

The glowing warmth of the windows flickered, lights blossoming as students and SeeDs alike woke for another day. Of what?  Tough training sessions?  Endless paperwork?  And for those lucky few, a mission to Winhill, perhaps, to gather data on chocobos and caterchillipars?__

_Why the hell am I coming back here again?_

The wind snapped like anger against his cheeks, but he ignored it, strode onwards.  His boots thudded in a mezmorizing rhythm, and he listened to it, for lack of anything better to do.  Watched as the red dawn trembled on a distant horizon.  

Not for the first time, thoughts of doubt invaded his mind.  

What if all this was all a trap?  The price put out on his head, the whole world out to get him, and still nobody had one inkling as to where he was.  Maybe Commander fucking Leonhart and his groupies thought this up to finally snag the ever-elusive Seifer Almasy.  Maybe Squall was just tired of waiting.

Hyne knew, there would be no one to jump to his defense if he was put on trial.

_The article in the newspaper, a lie?_

But then again, Squall wasn't the type to resort to cheap tricks to get what he wanted.

With Fuujin and Raijin behind him, he made his way to Garden's docking port.  The bulbous structure floated serenely, only a few feet above calm waves, and the wide, gravelly path pulled at him, enticing.  The silence thickened, and he suddenly found it hard to think clearly.

They reached the gates of Balamb Garden.  There was more silence again, but this was a different sort of quiet.

"Where the fuck are the posts?"Seifer broke the nervous stillness.

There were no people, but that was to be expected. What was the surprise was the absence of guards.  It was like a graveyard, silent and desolate.

Bad comparison, Seifer.

"Quiet,"Fujin whispered, and even that sound seemed echoed around the distant area.

With a mental shrug, Seifer gestured for them to follow.  

Empty.  That was the word.  Empty of people, empty of accusations, empty of hate.  There was no one.  Somehow that bothered him more than if there had been a whole swarm of SeeD cadets milling around in their chatter and bustle.

"Uh...Seifer?  What's the plan, man?"  Raijin looked around uneasily.

"First..."he pointed at the gates.  "We get pass that.  And all that needs is a little screwing around with the security system."

It was pathetic, how easy it was to get in.  Seifer would know.  He had, after all, been the residential bad boy in Garden, and sneaking out past curfew was something that he had mastered his first year there.

"You think they would change their password every once in a while," he muttered.  He wasn't disappointed in Garden at all.  Nah.

No guards.  He couldn't figure out if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered terse warnings.  It was a set-up, goddamnit.  Everything that smelled of rot and reeked raw apples and buzzed like gnats inside his head was screaming, insisting he get out.  But his feet slapped on the worn gray tiles, carrying him forward.  He couldn't go back. 

The gates opened with a mechanical clank.  And together the three made their way into the quad.

Up the stairs.

Past the empty receptionist booth.

No one was up at this unholy hour, and that was exactly what Seifer had counted on.

He also was counting on Xu to be up at her desk, secretary Xu, always-right-on-time Xu, so he could (cordially) ask her for a meeting with Cid.

One foot at a time, he climbed the stairs towards the elevator, and his eyes saw so many little things, things he had seen as meaningless decorations before, taken for granted: the elegant statues of fish, each individual scale so lovingly carved, with water spouting from their mouths, and the potted miniature palms, the white and beige tiles.

The smooth elevator doors opened with their annoyingly perky ding, and they stepped inside.  He watched the glowing numbers change, and his stomach gave an uneasy lurch as they were carried up towards the third floor.

The doors parted smoothly, and they were walking out.  He took a turn left, then mentally counted the doors down.  One...two...three.  His heart beat in his throat, and he was surprised that he still remembered.

He had been up here too often not to.

Old habits won out as Seifer pushed the door open without knocking.

The precise, organized room, where he had always been sent after he had indulged in a particularly nasty scuffle or set an instructor's beloved coat on fire, was the same: spacious, with its large mahogany desk, crowded bookshelves, and towering stacks of paperwork.

Except there was no Xu behind the threatening-to-collapse piles.

"Damnit!" he hissed.

"WAIT,"Fujin looked around, then seated herself in one of the (hand sewn from Shumi Village!) leather seats.

He paced, trying to find a release from the restless, nervous energy that roiled in his chest, threatening to choke him.  "Xu..." he said.  "What do we know about her, besides it's pretty damn likely that she's going to shoot first and ask questions later?"

Surprisingly, Raijin shook his head.  "Xu is a pro, man.  She invites you in for coffee and finds out what you want, and then she calls in the big guns, ya know what I'm sayin'?"

"There's no way Xu would panic.  After all, she's been running things for Garden for how long now?"Fujin said, and the calm in her voice infuriated him.

"Years, man,"Raijin snorted.  "Hard to believe she's only twenty one."

The young and the responsible.  The responsible and the young.  Almost interchangeable here at Garden.  Of course, there were always exceptions.

He slouched down into his own chair, and drew out Hyperion.  Its sharp, silver lines gleamed, the edge so refined that it could cut down everything—steel, flesh, bone.  

Sawing, blood sprayed—

"Seifer, man, what's up?"Raijin waved a hand in front of his face.

He had just opened his mouth to say something—and the silence of Garden was shattered by harsh alarms.  The shrieking noise tore into his ears like a starving T-rex would shred its prey.

"Attention, all SeeDs!  Repeat, attention, all SeeDs!"

Xu.  There was the tiniest hint of panic threaded into her usually calm, in-control voice.

"All SeeDs commence in the Quad area!  There has been an incident with a shipment of Island monsters that came in yesterday!  Remember to junction, in case you need to defend yourself!  Repeat, all SeeDs commence in the Quad area, now!"

He cursed.  Fear flooded into him with a mind-numbing intensity, but he refused to let it show.  Instead, he slid to his feet, Hyperion loose and ready in his hand, muscles tensed.  

"An incident...?"Raijin wondered.

Fujin paled, turning an even whiter color than her normally marble skin, and leapt to her feet.  "We have to get out of here!" In a flash, she was out the door.

"Fuj, wait!" Seifer yelled, and loped after her.

"They catch us, we get the blame," she hissed back at him.

For a moment, he froze, and the voices came back full force, screaming rats and fools and traps.  Then the sight of Fujin sprinting away from him galvanized him into action, and he ran after her, the thud of boots echoing in the long hallway.

It became a race against time, the three of them trying to get the hell out of there before anyone found them out.  The elevator ride down seemed to last an eternity (_goddamn creaky machinery_), and when it opened, they burst out, sprinting.

And skidded to a stop.

Holy crap.

A full-grown hexadragon opened its giant jaws, and the roar that blast out shattered the early morning stillness.  Even as they watched, a Marlboro, its arms waving agitatedly, slunk out of the training center, followed by an assortment of blue dragons, grendels, and a pair of twoT-rexasaurs.

"Incident, my ass,"Seifer muttered.

All three of them froze as the hexadragon turned its eight eyes their way.  It began blundering towards the elevator, eight legs stomping, wreaths of fire streaming from its toothy jaws.

"Let's just shoot it and run.  How's that for a plan?" he breathed to Fujin and Raijin.

"Yeah, and get attacked by the rest of the swarm?  Good thinkin' man,"Raijin said with a certain bravado.  Seifer detected a nervous undertone to his voice.

_Lose-lose situation.  No slow spell with us.  You run, it attacks.  You stay still, Leonhart finds you and locks you up._

Put it that way, Seifer's priorities became clear.  "Count of three, we run."

"Seifer-"

The hexadragon roared again, the large, curved teeth gleaming a yellow ivory color in the fluorescent lights of Garden.

"One...three!"

He heard the sound of SeeDs shouting as they discovered the monsters.  He cursed.  They sprinted towards the exit, and the mutated dragon spat fire and trashed its way through statues as it gave chase. 

The rush of adrenaline screamed through his veins, and more than anything, he yearned to draw Hyperion and rush into battle.  But there were the screams of shock, the sound of exploding firagas, the slight dip in temperature as someone summoned Shiva to their aid; everyone was awake, aware.

And if he didn't get out of there, all three of them would be thrown into jail.  

_Raijin and Fujin...they don't deserve it._

The thought was almost enough to bring a bitter laugh to his throat.

They were almost to the gates now, the road stretching ahead of them.  On both sides there was nothing but air and freefall, as Garden hovered above ocean spray and lapping waves.  And behind them, came the dragon, the sound of clicking claws echoing in his ears, closer and closer. 

His breath came in harsh pants.  _Teach you to stay in shape, Almasy._

_Damnit._

His boots slapped onto the cement, and each impact sent slivers of pain up his legs.  He cursed silently, and there was a pain in his chest that had nothing to do with his exertion.

_I don't want to run anymore._

He stopped, and spun around, grabbing the hilt of Hyperion.  It slid out of its sheath like silk.

The sound felt right.  It felt like coming home.

_Home._

"Seifer!"

"No more running," he forced out through gritted teeth, and attacked, bringing the gunblade down across leathery lizard skin.  

_No more hiding._

He ducked as the spiny tail arced his way, then slipped in, up close, Hyperion alive in his hands, _singing_ as he sliced through the dragon's hamstring.  The layer of tough hide gave way first.  He forced the metal through tendons and muscles, feeling a fine thrumming that vibrated up and down his arm as the blade cut deeper and deeper.  Blood sprayed in a mist.  The giant lizard collapsed onto one knee.  It was injured, but still it brought down massive claws that Seifer barely evaded.  Growling, he yanked the gunblade out, and tried to dodge at the same time, but its bulbous mass slammed into his body.  He tumbled back, crashed into the gravel.  

The chamrok spun in, whirling, its deadly spikes ripping into the monster's throat.  He felt the dying roar of the dinosaur vibrate throughout his entire body.   Then it fell, massive weight slumping onto the ground.  Garden gave a distant shudder.

Seifer raised his hand to touch his face--

--and came away with blood and the scent of lilacs clinging to his hand.

Fujin and Raijin were eyeing him, as if they didn't know what to expect.

A silence.

"They're busy with the monsters.  They won't come out here," Seifer said brusquely, turning away, using his shirt to wipe off Hyperion.  The white cloth smeared a violent red and black, and it hurt his eyes to look at it.

Blood, guts, and other things I don't want to think about.

There came a tentative, "Seifer..." from Fuujin.

"We should get going, man,"Raijin, normally loud voice subdued, cautious.

No more running.

Is this all about pride?

Damn right it is.

Screw it.

And then he saw her.

Quistis?

Even at this distance, he could recognize her, the golden hair glinting, woven through with sunlight.

Except that she was...floating?

And there was a tattered red dress, hanging in strips around her slumped form.

She's unconscious, and floating above the Garden wheels.  How long will the magic last?

"Hey, man, isn't that Instructor Trepe?" Raijin said, with a note of worry in his voice.

 Seifer ignored him. "We need to get going," he said in a clipped voice.  If they found them out here now, there would be hell to pay.  

No one moved.

He swore, and his pulse beat like an out of control drummer.  

There was a moment of indecision, where he couldn't think, where panic gripped his mind.  But he was SeeD, had deserved to be SeeD, and his thoughts slipped into an autopilot, a crystalline inner stillness.  

Natural soldier.

His posse came first.  Hell, if Puberty Boy had kicked Ultimeicia's ass, then a few island monsters couldn't be much, and SeeDs would be swarming all over Garden, looking for their scapegoats.

Few.  More like a whole stampede.

Distantly, he knew that there would be death.  He forced himself not to feel anything. 

Some fifteen year old who got trampled by a T-rexasaur had nothing to do with him.  Let his parents do the mourning.  Let Garden.  Seifer Almasy wasn't going to get involved.

His eyes refocused, and the magic shimmered, as it began to exhaust its sources.  In time, it wouldn't be able to maintain itself.  And then Quistis, she would fall, he supposed, into Garden's wheels, or if she chanced to miss the cutting edge blades, drown in the waters of the unforgiving ocean.

It was the same, damnit.  All she was was an ex-instructor who had done nothing for him.  He had failed the SeeD Exam, and she had given up hope for him, even if she was one of the last to do so.  Wasting her time trying to rein him in, they said.  Garden had condemned one of their own, and even they had admitted it.  But they had thrown up their hands in frustration long before she did.   And afterwards, she had turned to Puberty Boy with stars in her eyes.  Maybe that had hurt more than anything else, that she could forget him so easily.  Not Seifer Almasy.  Not him.  

He had seen it too many times to count.  In class, in training, on the field.  The battles, where the line between just doing your job and giving in to the primitive joy of killing was a thin one.  She had watched out for him then too, continued to do so.  Hell, even with Quistis, Squall came first.  Trepe, cold, untouchable Quistis. 

He tried to convince himself that she was just someone, one of them who had turned against him.  Or rather, he had turned against her, against her and Squall and Rinoa...

 He was fucking scared, but damn, he couldn't leave her out here.  

He had always come first.  If Seifer had ever believed in bullshit about the meaning of living and the path of life, he knew that that was what he would have faith in.  When everything else trembled and fell and died, there was only himself he could rely one.  His willingness to do anything—to survive.

But there had been too many deaths, a direct consequence of him, 

all your fucking fault you bastard—

and hell, no matter how stuck up or mediocre Quistis had been as his instructor, she didn't deserve to die.   

When he spoke, it was with a feigned confidence in his voice.  "Fujin, you got anything I can use?"

"Float magic," she said, with an urgent edge to her voice.  "Hurry, Seifer.  Bring her back, we have to run."

He felt the movement in the air, the magic, for lack of a better word, gathering, just a tiny look of concentration on Fujin's face, and then the whispered, "Float—"

He was six inches off the ground, before he knew it.  The air felt soft, like a feather pillow, and Seifer knew that if he stepped too hard, the fall would be painful.

It was red.  His heart jerked violently in his chest.

He cursed himself for being a fool.  

It's blood, not some sort of dress.

There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, like he was going to spill his breakfast.  

Unknowingly, he had started running, appalled at the sight of her.  The air beneath him sunk under his weight and distantly, came the sound of Fujin's voice: "CAREFUL!"

He'd seen enough of death to know that she was near it.  Violent red gashes on what he remembered as flawless skin, gold hair clotted in red, sticky red, white silk shredded to pieces; a desecrated perfection.  His stomach was roiling violently.  

He dropped onto his knees next to her, ignoring the feeling of blood that ran in rivulets, flowing over the edge of the float spell like a unnatural waterfall, (warm, still warm) soaking into his pants.  Carefully, gently, he checked for pulse.

His hands were red, slick.  

How long had she been there?  Bleeding out life in sticky red threads of blood?

It was still there under his fingertips.  Barely there.  Seifer hesitated, (need to get her to Fujin) then gently, picked up her slight form.  Her head lolled to one side like a boneless thing, limp and unresponsive, and he knew that if she was awake, she would tear into him, and, being the politically correct SeeD she was, knee him right in the belt.  How dare he pick her up like she was some damsel in distress—  

His stomach lurched, revolted.

He couldn't think about it, no—

Death and violence was a SeeD's life.  But this—

—This was personal.

His boots sank into the air, and it was like walking in a snowdrift, the cold, impersonal whiteness that caught and trapped and killed with the uncaring nature of an assassin.  Struggling back to Fujin, his arms aching from the dead weight, he collapsed onto the ground, lowering Quistis down with him.

Her normally peaches and cream complexion was ashen white, and he sat back, tried to inspect the damage.  Trying not to realize it was Quistis lying there like so much meat.  

"Cut on her arm hit a small vein."Seifer made his voice rough and uncaring.

Again, the feeling of energy gathering, and this time the look on Fuujin's face was intense.  He watched her concentration turn inward, watched as the pressure of the magic peaked, charging the air around them with tingling electricity.  The curaga glowed an intense green, dancing on her fingertips, and she sent them dancing towards Quistis with a flicker of fingers.

He watched as the cuts on her arm mended, the skin closing together over gaping slashes, wounds reknitting, healing, until all that was left of the god awful encounter was the sticky scarlet all over her body, her dress, her...

...Bunny slippers?

Seifer felt the laughter bubbling up in his throat, and it spilled out, ripping through the silence like jagged glass.  It was an out-of-control sound, desperation born of hopelessness, that he was forever pitted against fate, spiteful destiny.  Never, in all his paranoid ideas of what could've happened, had he imagined this.  

Raijin squatted opposite of him, his dark face closed off.  Seifer dropped his aching head into hands, cursed as the wet blood smeared on his cheeks.  

They needed to go.  Away from Garden.  Far, far away, to some place where they would never find him, if he was lucky.  But he couldn't find the energy to get back up, he was so exhausted. 

Hyne, could this day get any worse?

Footsteps approached him, light and delicate.  

He stopped his laughter long enough to tilt his head up and say, "Fuj, I'm perfectly fine, don't—"

The rest of the sentence froze in his throat.

Early morning sunlight gleamed off her hair, and her expression was one of contempt, anger, horror.

Rinoa.

"Take your hands off her, Almasy."  Squall, never too far behind his angel, unsheathed Lionheart.  His eyes were cold, but there was a slight thread of revulsion in his voice.

I just had to ask. 

:::=:::=:::

AN: Sorry this update took so long.  Been putting off on my revisions.  Stupid me.  Har.  Har.

Overuse of italics is BAD.  Have found out that character insight is deeper if you use just plain narrative.  Which means more typing more for me.  Yippee.

(Don't forget to leave a review on your way out!)


	6. Crossroads and a Mangled Chair

**Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 6: Crossroads, and a Mangled Chair**

:::=:::=:::

The prison was gray, gloomy, and cold.

It wasn't actually a prison; Hyne knew, Balamb Garden would never mar their spotless reputation by doing something as barbaric as putting prisoners into dungeons.  But it was gray.  Very gray.  A gray that hurt his head, and stabbed at his eyes like millions of enchanted needles given life by an insane sorceress who had nothing better to do.  And it was a ten feet by ten feet enclosure.  That was too small.  It made him feel…small.  Or it _was _too small.  _Ow._  

His head ached with what seemed to be a close relation to his former best friend, the killer hangover, and his thoughts ran together drunkenly.  _Small.  Small small_     

He had never been claustrophobic before.

Before.   

"Hey assholes!  I' telling you I didn't do nothing!"  He yelled at the guards.  He pounded on the door.  He fucking roared.  Not that any of it mattered.

It had looked so innocent up front: just a nondescript classroom, presumably unused, with unbreakable (he would know) glass windows and a heavy, bolted door.  They had pushed him in here, none too gently, and he had sat, paced, cursed, and yelled, all to no avail.  Six hours later, he was still stuck in this goddamn metal coffin.  

And the fucking cold.

The frosty, air-conditioning penetrated his worn trench coat as easily as a hot knife through butter—except this was anything but hot.  

_Think they're trying to freeze you to death, Almasy._

The thought was so ridiculous, it brought a small smirk to his face.  Oh, the irony.  He could just see the headlines.  _Former War Criminal Found Dead by Air Conditioning.  _Death by air-conditioning.  Now there was something he had never heard before.

Air conditioning wasn't important.  He doubted Mister Leonhart would let them get rid of him that way.  No, that would be too easy.  Not when the same Almasy that tried to destroy the world at the whims of a crazy bitch had damn near killed Quistis Trepe.  Child prodigy, savior of the world, Quistis Trepe.  Yes, _that _Trepe.  Death by air-conditioning would be far too merciful.

Serves you right.  Come waltzing back here, expecting them to forgive and forget the traitor of Garden, and this is what you get stuck with.  A truckload of Island monsters, an unconscious ex-instructor, and a fucking front row seat in my future trial.  Seifer Almasy vs. Balamb Garden.  Doesn't take a fucking genius to figure that one out.

Never mind that he hadn't actually done anything besides be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  Garden needed a scapegoat for the entire fiasco, and by Hyne, they would get one.

Seifer Almasy, "pardoned" ex-war criminal.

"Fuck," he growled, and crashed his fist into the metal desk in front of him.  He grabbed onto a chair, and slammed it into the chalkboard, felt the painful rebound of vibrating steel all the way up his arms.  His back tensed, quivered, strung out like a bow.  He tried to relax, couldn't.  _Damnit.  _The chair sung a song of agonized, tortured metal as he brought it down.  Any other time he would've used a punching bag to work himself out.  Or maybe picked a fight with Squall.

_Yeah_.  Sweat ran down his face, warm and sticky.  It evaporated quickly in the frosty air.  Trading punches with Squall always loosened him up.  

I need to get out.

The previously small classroom seemed to close in even more on him, and there was a sudden lack of space that brought an overwhelming bitter taste up the front of his throat.  

He forced his eyelids to close, and blindly tried to ignore the shudders of pain that clawed its way up from his hands.  Grunted as he smashed it into the window; the shock that ran up his arms loosened his sweaty grasp on the metal legs.  It crashed down onto the cold floor like something broken, cheap plastic bent out of shape.

He dropped down to one knee, breathing hard, trying to control the frustration that threatened to spill out of his aching fists.  The view outside was beautiful; light and goodness and birds chirping (not that he could hear anything) and all that crap.

Funny how you take what you have for granted and you don't miss it until it's gone.  He didn't even know when he had started to miss it—his former life, Garden, hell, even Chicken Wuss and the instructor.  It was a gradual thing, he guessed.  Sort of like a fatal cancer that crept up on you, and when you finally realized it was there, it was too damn late, 'cause the sickness had already clawed its way up to your spine, your heart, your head, and you were just too far gone to realize that no, things weren't peachy keen, and they wouldn't ever be again.

Yeah.  That sounded like him, alright.

He never knew how much he had valued his freedom until that moment.  All the time spent hiding himself so he wouldn't be recognized by someone, it was a limited freedom, but hell, he would take limited over none.

And now he was facing lockup for the rest of his life.  That, or execution.

_Raijin and Fujin.  What about them?_

The door gave an agonized creak of neglect.  It sounded just like the chair had, a few minutes earlier.  

He didn't bother to stand, just remained there on the ground, on his knee.  The remains of the destroyed chair lay on the cold tiles next to him, looking forlorn.  He mentally slapped himself.  What was he thinking?  How could a _chair _look forlorn?

"Get up, Seifer."

For a moment, he actually considered grabbing the metal legs and smashing in Puberty Boy's pretty face with it.  But a telltale blue glow at the corner of his vision alerted him to the presence of Lionheart.  What chance did a mangled chair have against one legendary gunblade?

He got to his feet slowly, dusted off his coat with an exaggerated slowness, then turned and saluted mockingly.  "_Commander_ Leonhart, to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?" he said sarcastically, and even he heard the frustration that simmered beneath the surface of his voice.

"Tell me what happened," Squall said, flatly.  Not a question, but a command.  

Seifer ignored him.  "Raijin and Fujin first."

"They're safe.  Depending on you, they might or might not be charged of being accessories in attempted murder.  Your move."  Despite the cold eyes, Seifer thought he could hear a note of grudging respect in Squall's voice.  

_Surprised, Leonhart?  We are a posse, after all._

A smirk went up automatically.  "Didn't try to do nothing," he said, leaning back against a desk.  "Poor fool that I am, I decided to stop and take a look."  

"'Take a look'", Squall repeated skeptically.  "What were you really trying to do?"

"I was trying to—"

"Heal her?"  The sarcastic edge in Squall's voice indicated that he highly doubted it.

"S'matter of fact, I was."

"Tell me."

Seifer related the abridged version of that morning, minus the fact that they had been running away when they had spotted Quistis.

"And then you and Rinoa came, and hauled me off to this place without even listening to what I had to say."

Squall's stare was unnervingly empty.  "You can't say anything to make us believe that you didn't do anything wrong.  It's too much of a coincidence."

_You're right, it is._

"You're right."

Squall's eyes widened the tiniest fraction.

_Surprise, surprise._

"I can't."  He paused, and played his bluff.  "But Quistis can."

Silence spread out between them like the ripples of a disturbed lake.  Seifer's breathing was soft, in control.  He had long since learned the less he showed, the more the chance that when the shit hit the fan, he would be too far away to care anymore.      

"You're right," Squall repeated softly.  "Quistis can, and she did."

_I knew she wouldn't fail me, if only for her own morals._

There was another pause, and then Seifer spat out a laugh.  "Charging Raij and Fuj with attempted murder?  What a crock of bullshit."

"You would be surprised at the things you have to say as the Commander of B-Garden."

_Getting tired of politics?  _He was half-tempted to ask if pencil pushing was anymore exciting than the actual rush of field command, then thought better of it.  _See, I **have **learned something in the past two years._

"So now..." Seifer trailed off.

He shrugged.  "Now it's up to you."

Neutral.  So neutral that Seifer wanted to punch him in the face, right where that perfectly sculpted nose met perfectly sculpted brows in an expression so frozen over it looked like one of Rinoa's early era statues, crafted in highest quality marble and polished, those rip-off expensive antiques that had ten-carat sapphires for eyes and was inlaid with gold.  Hyne, too bad Squall couldn't have been like that hunk of rock, but even Seifer would admit that Squall was good for more than just standing around and looking pretty.

"You're free to go, Seifer."  Squall was looking at him, absolutely still.  A stillness that might have hidden an explosive violence.  Or not.  "But you came back here in the first place."  _Might as well stay, isn't that right, Squallie boy?_

Seifer watched his eyes wander down to the chair, suppressed a small smile as Squall did the classic double take, but he recovered quickly, surprise hidden behind that GOD-can't-you-tell-I-want-to-be-alone expression.  "You stuck me in here for six hours.  I had to do _something_," he said, in ways of explanation. 

He frowned.  "You're going to have to pay for this, Almasy—"

"Yeah."  Seifer gestured carelessly.  "_Whatever_."  He said it mockingly, watched an unexpected flare of temper in Squall's eyes.  His pale hand slid automatically to Lionheart.  Natural reflexes.  They were more alike than they thought.  Which he didn't want to think about.          

_What now?  Back to wandering aimlessly around FH, waiting for fishes that seem to enjoy avoiding my line, and my line only, to bite?  Trapping?  Dragging down Raijin and Fujin when they can do so much better?  _He glanced around the room, found his eyes drawn to the window.  The world outside blurred through the thick prison of glass._  Pissing the rest of my life away?_

"What did she say?" he asked abruptly.

Squall looked surprised, then a little wary.  "She just said that she was attacked by a blue dragon outside the training center.  Why?"

"Nothing."  A pause.  _Blue dragon.  A swarm of Island monsters._  "Where the fuck were your security guards?"

"Where do you think?  They were the ones that checked the training center when they couldn't get the other patrol to respond."  He turned away.  "Twelve dead, and some junior cadets.  Three were just barely thirteen years old."      

He heard Squall take a breath, watched the tense line of his back as he straightened his shoulders.  His head was bowed, fists clenched at his sides.   

_You kill, Squall, through your precious Garden and your missions and your bullshit about being the 'elite mercenary force' of the world.  So have I.  But at least I admit it._

_Which one of us is worse, then?  Which one of us is the murderer when you send out dozens of SeeDs to their death every year? _  __

But it was apart of the rush, the danger, the knowledge that every battle could be his last.  He knew, to some extent, that he was…_different_.  Different from all the other SeeDs.  Did they welcome the challenge of treading the thin line between cold-blooded efficiency and uncontrolled savagery?  Did they need the simple joy of metal clashing against metal, the mind-numbing thrill, the whispered magic that called forth death, burned through armor, charred flesh, turned bone into bitter ashes?

Soldier was woven so deeply through his veins that a life of _fishing_, of all things, could only serve the purpose of driving him completely insane with boredom.  The last few months had been...peaceful.  But it wasn't in him to find peaceful a good thing. 

And before...it had all seemed so gloriously…_right._     

_Had._

Sometimes he forgot.  Sometimes he woke up late at night, still reaching out for that elusive _something.  _Someone.  And then he would curse, stare blankly at his hands, seeing nothing at all, letting the oppressive darkness leech away at the emptiness.  Sanity crept back slowly; he would only sit there, frozen, blankets twisted around him in puddles of darkness.  And there was nothing he could do about it.  No magical potion existed that it would chase the dreams away.  It was a hopeless cause.  _He _was a hopeless cause.

Not that anyone was going to prevent him from enjoying himself.  A hopeless case always meant the absence of prying eyes.  _Why waste time over **him**?_  Somewhere inside himself, he had, and maybe still did, entertain fantasies of coming back, making SeeD, outshining all the rest of _them_ again.  He would rise from the ashes of his failures like a phoenix reborn, as Fujin'd said, with the traitorous gleam of hope in her eye and voice laced in liquor.  He'd only snorted at her, and then they went back to their respective thoughts, Fujin probably dreaming of returning to Garden, and Seifer staring off into space, trying to think of nothing in particular.

"If Rinoa," and Seifer thought he heard his tone soften, "can forgive, then so can I.  But if I find out I was wrong about you, Seifer, you're fucked."  

Seifer gave a half-hearted sneer, more habit than anything else.  "Didn't Matron ever tell you that swearing makes your mouth sprout warts and your tongue grow boils?"

"Seifer, I have no time for your mind-games."

"You had plenty of time last week."  He laughed, cocked his head.  Anger sparked through his voice.  "What was it, then?  Who was that man tailing me with "SEED" all but tattooed onto his forehead?  Hyne, if you have to send someone to follow me around, pick someone who _isn't _an incompetent ass.  It's insulting."

Squall only looked back at him, cold and aloof, unmovable like an age-old glacier.  Whatever the hell it was Quistis and Rinoa saw in those cold gray-blue eyes, Seifer couldn't find for the life of him.  

There was something irritating about the way he stood, balanced and calm.  So goddamn calm, like he had only offered Seifer a cup of tea, instead of threatened him with death—

No.  Not death, exactly.  Lockup, most likely at the D-district prison.  But it didn't make any difference, because a life sentence only meant a slower death.  It might take weeks, maybe even months, if the warden had it his way.  Jailers were always sadistic little fuckers like that.  

Hell if he was going to rot the rest of his life away in some desert shithole.

Seifer made an exasperated sound.  "Use your head, oh great commander.  Why the hell would I stop and save Quistis if I had just set all those Hell Beasties free?  I ain't fucking stupid."

_'Whatever'.  _

"Whatever."

Suspicious bastard.

"Come with me," he gestured for Seifer to follow.

"Do I get a tour now that I've been reaccepted back into Garden?  From the Commander himself?"  Seifer smirked, flicked back his hair with a brush of fingers.  And tried not to shiver.  _Damn cold._

He glanced at him briefly.  

"No tour.  We're visiting Matron."

:::=:::=:::


	7. Until Proven

Blood and Lilacs: Chapter 7: Until Proven 

AN:  Have I ever mentioned what wonderful, encouraging people my reviewers are?  Well, let me say it again.  I love you guys.  A thousand thank yous would never suffice.

:::=:::=:::

Sickly warmth dragged at her like a smothering blanket of death.  Her lids were just too heavy, and she wanted nothing more than to lie back—_wait, she was already lying back, tangled up in heavy weights, feeling like hell warmed over_—and let sleep take her away.  Sleep meant no thinking.  No pain.  She tossed her head in irritation at the annoying sounds of someone calling her name.  Couldn't they just leave her alone?  

_Wake up, coward._

_I'm no coward._

She opened her eyes.

_White._

The color burned so empty that it reminded her of...(_death?_) _something_, some distant memory that she couldn't quite catch.  Her thoughts moved with all the speed of paint drying, which was at least still faster than her limbs.  The damn things refused to move at all.  

Disoriented, she realized that she hadn't been inside of Dr. Kadowaki's infirmary in a long, long time.  Which she supposed was a good thing.

Her mind was blissfully blank for only a second before everything came back to her in an overwhelming tidal wave of confusion.

Quistis jolted up, and then collapsed again as the world tilted and spun like a top gone out of control.  

_Garden...blue dragon...?_

"Quistis," came a concerned voice, "Lie back down.  You still haven't recovered fully."

"Matron!"   Quistis felt gentle hands guiding her down back onto the cot, and feel her forehead.  

"Sh..." she said tenderly, smoothing back a stray strand of gold, shining so brightly against the pillow.

She felt the familiar sense of tugging that were her memories as they struggled to escape from their GF induced prison.  They lingered, even though she couldn't quite grasp them, like wistful ghosts who were reluctant to leave.  

Magic stirred in the air; the hairs on her bare arms prickled to attention.  Matron sighed as she channeled the energy, and dark blue glow surrounded her hands.  Ice entwined with a rush of fire burst through her veins, as fierce as a stampeding herd of horned horses.

Her delicate hands slipped back, and Quistis slowly, cautiously, sat up.  Feeling no pain, she checked her shoulders for signs of the dragon's ravaging claws, and found nothing but a set of four parallel lines, jagged and faintly red.

Off in the distance, she thought she heard the unmistakable roar of a Ruby Dragon, followed by panicked shouts and the equally unmistakable cackle of a Marlboro.  

"Matron, what's happened?"  She couldn't keep the agitation from surfacing in her voice.  _Damn.  Damn.  Damn.  _ 

"Someone broke into the shipment of Island monsters.  The magic seals were torn away."

Her hands clenched hard around a handful of blanket.  "But no one is strong enough to break the seals, only a few magic users—"

"First, Quistis, tell me what happened."  Her voice was soothing, but Quistis noticed, for the first time, the faint purple smudges under her eyes, a tightness around her mouth, and the way she gripped the edge of the bed so hard that her knuckles were white.

"I was attacked by a blue dragon..." She relayed what had happened coldly, distancing herself from the incident.  It was as if what had happened hadn't occurred to her, but to some stranger.  If she tried hard enough, she might even be able to forget that she had damn near died.

Death wasn't something she was afraid of.  What she was afraid of was dying this way: alone, unhappy. 

_What am I thinking?  I'm not alone.  I have Selphie, and Rinoa, and Zell, and Irvine, and even Squall...to some extent.  _

She grimaced.

 "Did you see anyone?"  Matron's tone, normally so serene, was urgent and all but demanded an answer.

"I...no."

As soon as the words left her mouth, something, someone, flashed inside her mind.

Quistis opened her mouth to say correct herself, but she was cut off as Matron abruptly rose from her bedside and strode to the phone.  She leaned her aching back onto the pillow behind her, and her pulse quickened as she heard the echoing scream of a Grendel.  

"Squall," Matron said, and there was relief in her voice, "she says it wasn't him.  Please, bring him and come now."

_What's going on?_

She still felt the aftermath of Edea's healing, warm and glorious, a rush of heady power that swarmed across her vision like the potent buzz of alcohol.  The shuddering breath she drew tightened her lungs painfully, and she squinted her eyes closed, counted to three, tried to clear her head.

Someone had broken the Garden seals; the seals, which only the most powerful magic users could get past, and even they would have been weakened considerably.  She'd once tried to break those seals, at Matron's request, to test the strength of the barriers.  It hadn't been easy, letting the power build and build and build to a towering flood of pure mental energy.  But it hadn't been able to get past the seals, not with just brute force.  Instead it had come flooding back to its owner in a monstrous rebound.  In the end the strength of her own magic had nearly broken her.  

If Quistis hadn't been able to break the seals, then who—?

Throwing back the covers, she reached for her normal peach assemble, shivering as the cold air cut past her sheer hospital nightgown.

"Quistis, wait."

She whipped her head back in alarm at the weak tone in Matron's voice.  She was leaning against the wall, head sagging, and her breath hitched slightly.    

"Matron, what's wrong?"  Quistis crossed the room in a few small steps, and placed a steadying arm along her narrow shoulders to help her to the chair.  Edea promptly collapsed.

"The Island monsters, Irvine and Selphie and Zell are taking care of.  But there were injuries because we failed to take the necessary precautions in protecting the junior classmen."  She took a breath, and continued.  "Dr. Kadowaki and her staff were under prepared as well, and I have always had a talent for healing."

"Were there many students hurt?"

She nodded.

"Why are we all alone in here then?"

Matron shook her head.  "We moved everyone underground a few hours ago.  The infirmary isn't under attack anymore because we've managed to crowd the monsters back into the training center."

"You didn't answer my question."

"I need tell you something, dear.  Better sit down."

_I don't like this._

"I know this will come as an emotional shock to you, but I'm sure that you'll pull through."  Her eyes, still tired, were disconcertingly direct.  She attempted a smile, which did nothing except make Quistis more nervous, then continued on.

"When Cid asked the Garden Council to reassign you your position as an instructor, they agreed."

_Of course they did.  We saved the world, after all._

"But lately they have been reconsidering their decision, ever since that minor—" she coughed into her hand, "incident with SeeD Granski."

Quistis winced.  She knew she shouldn't have agreed to take the overly enthusiastic kid to the Fire Cavern so early.  But he _had _sworn to junction properly.  And he _had _done nicely enough in her Intermediate Magic class.  

Of course, all those things had been completely useless, considering that the he had been very, _very _drunk when they had set out together that day.  One of Granski's friends had spiked his bottle of soda.  And Quistis had ended up having to call the Balamb Hospital Ambulance when he had fainted halfway on their way to the forests.

_My fault.  I should've noticed.  _

Granski's parents had thrown a fit about incompetent Garden instructors.  Naturally, the council had heard.  So now here she was.

Her work was slacking, and even she knew it. 

"They think their original decision was made on unsubstantial ground, and they think it was too hurried.  So, they've demanded evidence that you are in fact fit to keep your position as instructor."  Matron looked at her, and the expression on her face was apologetic.

"Am I going to lose it again?"  Quistis knew her face was as smooth and blank as a sheet of paper.

_Not again._

"No."

_Here comes the "but"._

"But we've decided that it's best you prove your capabilities."

" 'We'?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"Cid, Squall, and I.  The council gave us the final say on your 'test', so to speak."  She laughed.  The melody of the sound stirred some hidden emotion in the back of her head, and she felt her ties to Ifrit give a brief tremor.  But the barrier to memory held.  Quistis shook her head, tried to clear it out.  _Stop bothering me._

"Lucky for you, we get to decide what your test is."  The laughter had faded.

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

She sighed.  Quistis noticed that the tight line of her mouth had relaxed just a bit.  "That's where the hard part comes in."  She paused, hesitating.  "Quistis, you were lying unconscious outside of Garden on a float spell.  Do you know who found you?"

_A flash of ebony hair._

"No." A sense of foreboding twisted in her stomach.  "I just thought that it was one of the SeeDs.  Why?"

"You were—"

Matron stopped as someone tapped three times on the door, and without turning around, Quistis could recognize Squall and the soft scent of his aftershave.

Quistis got up, and turned to face him.  Saluting, she said, "Commander—"

The words froze in her throat, and her eyes went on to register what she was seeing even as her mind reeled with shock.  There was Squall, looking at her with a wry expression on his face.  And behind him, of all people, was Seifer, and she thought irreverently, _Oh, look, he still has that leather choker around his neck._

"Matron.  How was your trip?" Squall asked, but his eyes were on Quistis, searching and to some extent, wary.  

"Fine," she said distractedly.  "Brun's got what he wanted out of me with his problems."  She was watching Seifer intently, scrutinizing, as if trying to see something the rest of them couldn't.  "You really should talk to Laguna about the way he's running Esthar, Squall.  Next time I'll have to stay longer.  I can't do that when Garden's like this."  

Quistis watched her mouth form the words, but the strange buzzing in her head intensified.    

"Matron," Seifer said, respectful.  _What I wouldn't have given to have him address me like that two years ago.  _Then his eyes cut to her, and cocked his head.  "The dear instructor is fine now, ain't she?"  When she said nothing, just stood there with her mouth hanging open like some lack-witted fool, he laughed, the deep baritone that she had come to dread over the years, because it had always meant that he was going to steal Zell's hotdogs, or pick a fight with Squall.  Or for that matter, pick a fight with her.  Maybe she was just being a wimp.  Probably.  She could see Seifer agreeing with that.

She supposed she shouldn't be so surprised.  Seifer was indestructible, and bound to return to Garden to cause even more trouble than before.  And now that he had been officially pardoned (by Balamb, at least), he wasn't the one to miss the chance.  He was opportunistic.  Impulsive.  Brutal.  Honest.  And she'd thought that she'd understood him, his moods, the way his eyes sparked with challenge everytime he looked at Squall.  His _unpredictability_, the extreme mood swings, from wild to tender (_Rinoa_) to brooding and back.  But at the same time he was himself.  Seifer Almasy.  Uncensored, she might say.

She'd envied him.

And then he had gone and lost himself in his dreams of knights and ladies.  

She'd thought she'd understood him.  More fool her.

He was watching her with his cat eyes, and there was an almost bitter amusement to his voice, as if he knew what she was thinking.  "Well, I thought I would be getting a better welcome than this.  I did save you after all."

"It was _you_?"

"Yeah, it was me.  Sir Knight, at your service."  He swept a bow, every line of his body mocking her, mocking himself.

She gathered herself mentally, and opened her mouth to let out some scathing remark, but Matron interrupted.  "Quistis, remember, the Garden council."  There was warning in her voice.

"No," she said.  "Wait—"

"There are more important things to worry about right now," Squall said.  

_Damn him for always being right._

"Squall, Matron says the seals were broken, and you know that no one outside of us is strong enough to get through them.  And how can you be sure that..." Quistis trailed off, remembering that Seifer was right there in the room with them.  She looked up, and his green eyes met hers with a disturbing intensity.

"I didn't do it," He said it with a quiet conviction, and Quistis was tempted to believe him, wanted more than anything to believe him.  But she remembered the other broken promises that she had been naïve enough to think that he would keep his word.  

"He didn't do it.  Trust me on this, Quistis."  Matron's soft voice carried an uncharacteristic note of steel.

Squall shook his head.  "The seals...only one of us are strong enough the break them.  Even if you were all-powerful, getting past them requires some...finesse.  Finesse and knowledge.  It's knowledge Seifer can't have."

" 'A knowledge that he can't have'..." Quistis repeated.  "How can you be so sure?"

"Seifer has been in Fisherman's Horizon for the past few months."  She heard the unspoken words.  _No suspicious activity has been reported._

There was a tense silence in the little room.

He continued on.  "We were extra careful with this shipment, because there were Marlboros.  However..." he trailed off.

For the first time, she realized that maybe they didn't just assign her to be his teacher.  She glanced back at Squall, and he was looking at her with an equal intensity.  

"You realize I can't spend all my time with him."

He shrugged, and Seifer smirked.

She shivered, and suddenly felt very vulnerable and exposed, standing there in the hospital gown.  Outside there came a dull roar as someone summoned Shiva to their aid.

"Irvine, Zell, and Selphie have it under control now.  We...were taken off guard."  His voice was rough, and he shook his head, smoothed back strands of hair.  She noticed his fingers were clenching and unclenching, white and strained.  "There were a number of casualties."

"How many?" she asked.  _Casualties.  Dead._  She dreaded the answer. 

"Twelve, all junior class," he said, and his face was a stone mask.

"Squall..." She paused, unsure of what to say.

"Garden can't afford anymore losses.  The Galbadian attack last year took out too many.  And now this..."

_Casualties.  _Just another fancy word for the brutal cycle of life.  It was death, plain and simple.  _Uncensored.  Casualty of war.  Just another.  And another.  And another—_

Seifer kept his silence, but his eyes were focused, intent, taking in what was being said, and what remained unspoken.  No, Seifer Almasy was no fool.  She could attest to that.

"From now on, there will be twice as much manpower put into the security and patrolling of Garden," he said.  She watched as he straightened his shoulders, but the dull look was still there in his eyes, the downward drag of his mouth.

"Quistis, the regular scheduling of classes will begin again on Monday.  We can't let the bastard that did this see how much this has hurt us."  He paused. 

"Wait a minute.  What about Raijin and Fujin?"  Seifer watched him with the inborn stillness of a natural warrior, and only his coat rustled around him.  

"They're waiting for you in front of the dorms.  They'll take you to your room."  With that, Squall turned to go.  "Quistis, outside.  I need to talk to you."

She walked out of the room with a backward smile at Matron.  Seifer she tried to ignore.  

The infirmary door swung close behind her.  She looked at Squall, and even at this distance of a few feet, she had to tilt her face up.  The stormy eyes, ever changeable, were regarding her with a frankness that she didn't like.  Because when Squall was acting so friendly towards her, it usually meant he wanted something.  Like for her to take over his paperwork, just for a few days.  Or for her to deal with the pesky Galbadian diplomat who'd arrived the week before.  Or—

"Who better than you to handle this, Quistis?"  His eyes were serious.  _Oh god, this is ridiculous.  _She stifled the inane urge to laugh.

"Think about it."  His voice was laced with encouragement.  Like a councilor.  Or a shrink who wanted to screw with her head.  _Tell me about this...problem of yours, Quistis._

"Okay."  She leaned backwards against the wall, arms crossed, watching the tense line of his shoulders, the shadows under his eyes.  No one seemed to be getting any sleep this last week.  No one, including her.  "I thought about it."

He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"No."

She thought she saw impatience move behind his tired eyes.  "Quistis, you were his main instructor before...Time Compression."  She heard the hesitation in his words.  _You were going to say Ultimecia.  _"You were his last hope.  You were one of Garden's best—"

"Right."  She sighed, tucked a wayward strand of hair out of her face.  "That's why I got fired, Squall."

"And rehired.  And that was because you showed favoritism.  That's what I want you to do this time."

_I.  He said I._

Damn, she was weak.

He gave a half smile.  "You showed favoritism to me.  Look where I am now."  He flicked his hair out his eyes, and she inched backwards, kept her eyes resolutely on his face.  _Weak.  _"Commander of Balamb Garden."  His words were tinged with something bitter.

"Squall," she said, words stiff.  "You know that instructor..."she searched her mind, grabbed onto some random name.  "...Sheiara would be much better qualified.  She's strict, demanding, she's—"

He shook his head.  "This is bull."  Tiredly.  "You can be just as strict, and we both know it."

She wanted him to stop asking her.  She wanted to flee from this suffocation.  Pressures, his expectant gaze that was like a heavy weight on her shoulders.  She didn't want this, but his eyes were an unwanted responsibility she couldn't ignore.  

"Why are you doing this?"  She had to ask.  

He shrugged, and his eyes unfocused, blurred into distance.  "Maybe I think Seifer deserves another chance."  A beat of silence.  "I told you once."

"Told me what?"

"Seifer's not a bad guy.  He's just..."

_Delusional?  Crazy?  An ass?_

"...Misguided."

She blinked, unsure of what to say.  Her bunny slippers made no noise on the tiled floor, and she noticed they weren't as blood splattered as the rest of her clothes had been.  _Thank Hyne for small favors.  _

"I thought you hated him."

His eyes were a shadowed blue, and they flicked around the hallway, avoiding only her.  "I thought so too."

No.  She wanted to say the word, save herself from weeks of the irritation by the name of Seifer Almasy.  But her mouth stayed sewn closed, and when she forced them open, the words came out— 

"Fine."

_—Wrong._

Her skin tingled with a curious relief.  The look in his eyes as he pushed back his hair again was relieved too.  And oddly triumphant.  He was content.  _Manipulative bastard.  _Politics was a sticky business, and Squall Leonhart the Commander of Balamb Garden had as much chance escaping it as Zell had of actually honoring his promise to his girlfriend—_what was her name?—_and swearing off hotdogs.  _Hotdogs contain very unsafe ingredients, Zell Dincht, now you listen to me right now or—_  It didn't matter how many times he asked her or Xu or Cid to sit in for him at a council meeting.  It was, to borrow an old saying, sink or swim.  

Maybe he had learned something as commander.  _Maybe._

He gave her a graceful incline of his head.  "Matron will be happy to hear."  A brief smile, but it disappeared in a flash of quicksilver.  He turned to go.  _I should've known better.  _"See you around, Quistis."

She left herself, feeling oddly cheated.         

:::=:::=:::

AN:  I think the beginning of this story is as tired out as it can get.  Unfortunately, I /didn't/ think that when I first started writing it, naïve fanfic author that I was.  But I also like to think that it's going to get better after a few chapters.  Yay for all of us.  *cheers tiredly while trying to bat off errant plot bunnies*  Stupid Inuyasha is gonna be the death of me one of these days...


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